Friday, October 15, 2010
I love works that capture the simultaneous frailty and bravery of human beings. This poem does just that, and does so perfectly.
The Thing Is
by Ellen Bass
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
(Read the rest here, at The Writer's Almanac.)
The round up is at Liz in Ink.